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Y’know, lives on Drury Lane

This week, I have mostly been baking. Or involved in the process. Contrary to the hen-pecked impression I like to leave, I didn’t really take much persuasion, and thoroughly enjoyed both the baking and the eating. 

I like to cook. I make a mean lasagne (this week featuring three forms of meat), and will have a stab at anything you can give me a recipe for (barring the bonkers likes of Ferri or Blumenthal). I love cake, and I love pudding. I will eat apple crumble and custard until my eyes fill up with vanilla-y yellow, and will eat bread pudding to the tune of a small African country’s weekly intake.

Yet, the two rarely coincide. I hardly cook puddings (usually, the entree is such a monster that there’s no room in the belly), and when I do it’s apple crumble, or banana custard, or something bought in. I never bake. Why the discrepancy? I don’t really know, and given the amount of cake/chocolate/sweets I consume in the average work/charityshopping day, making my own sweet gateaux would be an economical thing.

And hence, this week I have made victoria sponge (replete with early strawberries and double cream filling) and bread pudding (a little flabby on the base, but certainly potential), and have been involved (at least at the eating stage) with chocolate muffins and cheese scones (approximately 2/3 of which have disappeared in the few hours since baking). I enjoyed it all, and I love the fact that I have cake around the house now. Score!


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